


The Oriande Project

by Zharena



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, Mystery, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 01:27:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17012946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zharena/pseuds/Zharena
Summary: Six months after her father’s passing, Allura, wanting to feel closer to him, heads to Lake Oriande to visit the town he grew up in. Among the picturesque vacation homes and towering trees, she meets Keith, one of the area's locals. He, too, is suffering from loss: the disappearance of his closest friend, Shiro. Their lives soon become woven together by their struggle and as they uncover the truth surrounding Shiro's disappearance, they begin to realize that their stories may be more connected than they could have ever thought possible.





	The Oriande Project

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so excited to finally start posting this! I've been working on this idea on and off since the summer and am thrilled to have it at a point where I can start posting.
> 
> Characters and relationships will be added as they're introduced. The primary pairing of this is gen, however some background ships may make an appearance.

The perimeter of Lake Oriande was winding and muddy, refreshed from a recent storm. Cottages and old resorts, some abandoned and some alive, dotted the road. Families with children, couples hyper with love and wedded bliss, and old retirees in their velcro-backed baseball caps inhabited the porches, whiffs of barbecue and grass dancing through the air. Behind them stood the trees, taller than any Allura had ever seen before.

“Cobblestone Cottages - 3 miles.”

She could still turn back. Cancel, head back home, only lose part of her deposit, and get a month of productivity back. Maybe the owner would go easy on her, too, if she had a good reason. Maybe she’d get the entire payment back. Her heart fluttered as she thought about it, going over the myriad of explanations she could use to back out of this trip. She wasn’t sure why she did it: there was nothing stopping her from turning around. Perhaps she was afraid that if she didn’t have a good reason, her decision would paint her with guilt for the remainder of her life. Maybe she simply needed an urge that would overpower the nervousness pulsing through her. Hell, she didn’t even really want to turn around. 

So that settles it.

A watery film descended upon her eyes as she drove past a sign welcoming her to Altea, the town her father had grown up in. Allura sniffed, swearing that the scent of dirt had become more pungent once she crossed the town line. She felt uneasy; it reminded her too much of what brought her there, of slabs of stone with inscriptions of finality written on them. Wrinkling her nose, she drove past a sign that read, “Cobblestone Cottages – next left,” wondering whether she had made the right choice in visiting.

Allura drove to the next corner and made the turn, pressing harder on the gas as she went up a steep hill. The motel office office stood alone at the peak, standing guard over a kingdom of vacation homes behind it. She pulled up beside it wiped her eyes, and got out.

From what she could see, most of the cottages were small, with yellowed paneling, rust-colored shutters, and gray shingles. A handful of larger cottages for bigger families dotted the property. Most of the cars had yet to return to the property for the evening, their owners trying to get away from the hectic hustle of their lives as long as they could. A pang of guilt squeezed Allura’s heart, made her feel wrong that what had brought her there was not a search for tranquility like all the others, but a need for closure.

At the center were a pool and small playground, a shack with a splintered sign depicting a soda can and hot dog, and a large gazebo with several picnic tables around it. One was occupied by an older couple with a small child, the latter of whom was hunched over something on the table. Pebble pathways streamed through the grass and around the perimeter was a single road that connected everything together, circling back to the main office.

The building was larger than any of the homes, with a wooden porch that wrapped around the front of the building. A rear entrance comprised of three small, lopsided steps and a rotting rail. Tensing, she pressed her foot against the top of the middle step, listening to it groan beneath her. Holding her breath, she made her way up and through the tendrils of splintered wood. 

Rocking chairs, the remnants of early morning conversations, were strewn about the porch, and stickers of various local businesses decorated the posts. A heart-shaped carving had been etched into one of the posts, the initials inside too damaged for her to make out. Allura dragged her fingers across them and closed her eyes, letting the splintered edges tickle her skin. A young, happy couple appeared in the darkness of her lids, their fingers intertwined as they carved into the wood with schoolish excitement. Their mark, left behind to a world that sought only to obscure it.

The only other curiosities she found were a yellowed soft drink machine, the buttons for half of its selections were dim, and a copper rooster standing attentively beside it, his wings dotted green with oxide. The middle section was hollowed out, probably so that a newspaper could be placed inside. She peered a little closer and found a few bubbled pieces of paper stuck to the bottom, all of them unreadable with the exception of one - an advertisement for a nearby pizza place. She whipped out her phone and snapped a photo, filing the information away for later. 

Satisfied with a lead for dinner, she put her phone in her bag and headed inside the office. The entrance was in better shape than the rest of the building, with a bright coat of paint and only a few stray scuff marks lining the edges. An amber window with rippled glass and a metal push bar adorned the center. The muffled voice of a person speaking came from the other side.

She opened the door and was greeted by a front desk floating in a sea of cherry paneling. An older woman sat behind the counter with her phone glued to her cheek, her gray-streaked red hair bouncing as she laughed at what the person on the other end was telling her. As Allura stepped up to the counter, she glanced at her and held up a single finger with a smile on her face. Allura nodded in understanding - she was in no rush - and took a look around the room.

On the counter were stacks of takeout menus. Though she was already sold on pizza for the evening, she gathered one of each, stuffing them into her purse for future reference. Hanging on one of the walls was a photograph of the lodge when it first opened. Below it was a set of shelves displaying an assortment of area-themed souvenirs. Allura’s eyes fell on one of the snow globes: inside were a pair of wooden chairs buried in glittery snow. The snow globe was almost an exact replica of one her father had gotten for her when she was a child, the one she would roll around on the living room carpet with and shake, staring at the falling flakes for what seemed like an eternity. Giving the one in her hand a gentle shake, she let herself reminisce, feeling the phantoms of scratchy carpet fibers travel up her skin, listening to his father’s voice as he asked her if she was playing with her snow globe again. 

There came the film again. She sucked in a breath, blinked the tears away, and kept looking around, snow globe in palm.

The only cabinet left showed off brochures for attractions in the area, some stuffed haphazardly into their slots. A bulletin board adjacent to it housed various community announcements, among them a weekly flea market poster with a list of regular vendors and a set of tear-offs for guided nature hikes. They seemed fun enough, but she couldn’t say she was particularly interested in any of them. 

What she was interested in, however, was the pair of eyes that stood between them. Soft and pensive, she found herself drawn to them. She lifted the curtains of paper to get a better look at his face. Printed above his portrait was one simple word: “MISSING.”

Her heart stopped.

“I can help you now.”

Allura dropped the papers and spun around, heading for the counter. The missing man remained in the back of her mind.

“Just checking in,” she said as she plopped the snow globe on the counter. “Give me a moment to grab my confirmation.”

“Take your time.” The woman woven her fingers together and rested her chin on top of them as Allura rummaged through her bag. “You’re the only one checking in today, at least as far as reservations go.”

Allura fished her wallet out and unzipped it. Safe in the compartment was a copy of the reservation she’d printed out that morning, along with her credit cards, ID, and what little cash she had left after getting gas. Maybe a forgotten stick of gum or sucking candy, too, if she was lucky. 

She unfolded the sheet of paper, set it on the counter, and placed her ID and credit card on top of them. The woman scooped them up and set them down beside her, turning to face the computer. Squinting at the old monitor, she clicked several times and shook her head, pulling the documents closer. 

“The next four weeks? You’re sure about that, right?”

“Yes.” Allura raised an eyebrow. “Any reason why I shouldn’t be?”

“No, of course not! Just...not many people stay here for that long. Especially here. Usually I don’t have guests longer than a week, if I’m lucky.” She exhaled and unlocked a drawer beneath her, a smile slowly spreading across her face as she pulled out a set of keys. Once she placed it on top of the pile, ready to hand it back to her customer. As she grabbed the edges she paused, staring at the documents with her mouth parted.

“Something the matter?”

The woman brushed her off.

“Ah, it’s nothing. Here you are,” she said. Her eyes on the paperwork as she handed it over. “If you need anything, feel free to let me know. I’m usually in from nine to seven, though sometimes I dip out a little earlier when I’m not feeling well. My legs aren’t so great these days.”

“I understand. Is anyone in the office at night?”

“Yes, a couple of people. You’ll meet them at some point during your stay here, I’m sure. One of them will be arriving soon, but I don’t want to keep you. You’re probably pretty tired after that drive.”

“I’m not too bad, if I’m being honest.”

She bit her lip. In truth, she felt like she was about to fall on her face, though not for the reasons the innkeeper had assumed. The drive was fine; she only lived about three hours away. Not the most physically taxing of trips. No, it had been her thoughts that had worn her out, swollen with nostalgia as she drove through one of the winding county roads her father had dreamed of taking her down. 

Just as the other woman was about to say something, Allura slid the keyring onto her finger, put her cards away, and stuffed the confirmation into her wallet, shifting her attention back with a smile.

“I’ll see you in the morning, um-”

“Trigel.” 

“Trigel,” she repeated, letting the name roll off her tongue. “My name is Allura.” 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Allura. I’ll see you in the morning, then. I hope you have a pleasant month here.”

“Thank you. See you tomorrow.”

Allura took one last glance around the room, at the flocks of brochures and the man on the poster. After the finality of her conversation with Trigel, she didn’t want to linger in the office for too long.

She’d see him tomorrow.


End file.
